Hubba, Hubba, Heart-stopper
by wayouttamyleague
Summary: A troublesome EKG before Caskett's wedding inspires a host of banter-filled, smutty, and athletic solutions to 'tune up Rick's engine' before the big day. Take a tour in Rick's fantasy Ferrari, to get into the mood, with this sports car and nickname themed one-shot. (well maybe 2 shots, if it revs your engine hot enough).


**Warnings: Castle/Beckett/Espo/Ryan/OFC, Rated M Het, Humor and Steamy Romance**

**Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, except for the 1 and 5/10's that are. **

**Thanks (or blame) goes to purplangel for goading me into writing Caskett smut for her! Apparently, I'll do anything for gushy compliments on my beloved Ryan and Espo romp. So, Caskett-lovers, how'd I do with Rick's libido?**

* * *

"It's called _exercise_, Castle."

Rick recoiled at the news, as much as the stinging sarcasm in Doc Craney's voice.

"This EKG can either be a wake up call, or the penultimate chapter in your medical record. Your choice."

Castle's long-time friend, and physician, was the best in his field. He knew symptoms for heart disease in the 'maturing male' better than anyone. He'd discreetly treated half of the men on Fortune Magazine's Top Dog list, and had the bankroll to prove it.

"Come on, Ron, don't you just want to scribble something illegible, that can make this all go away?" Rick nudged the prescription pad a little closer to his former poker buddy.

"Can't bluff your way out of this one, Rick." The doctor wrapped Castle's chart against the writer's bare chest, "Mother Nature's a stone cold bitch."

"C'mon!" Rick called after the Doc, as he struggled to slip his arms into his shirt, fully intending to chase Craney down the hall, and petition his appeal.

But Rick was unceremoniously whacked in the face by the return swing of the examining room door, just as he caught sight of the Doc greeting Kate in the waiting room. _'Dammit, he got to Kate. No wonder we don't play cards anymore. He plays dirty.'_

* * *

Back at the loft, Beckett's men-bossing voice boomed, "So, Castle, what's the plan?" cutting the air in the room in half.

Rick choked on his Kahlua spiked frappucino, blowing whipped cream across the breakfast bar, and a little up his nose, totally ruining the soothing purpose of the whole concoction.

Once the gurgling coughs cleared, and he had grabbed a towel, Castle grasped at his composure with a thinly veiled, "Why, Detective Beckett, what plan are you referring to?"

"You told me Ron Craney was God's gift to men's health." She so loved to quote him back to himself.

"Well, that may have been an overstatement."

She cut him off, "And if the mouthpiece of the Most High, Himself, gives you a health directive," She picked up the towel and started attending to his frothy nose. "I know you wouldn't ignore it, just because you're afraid it might cut into a little of your _Halo_ time."

Castle's squirmy inner ten year old whined, "But I hate doing the same boring thing everyday, while there are so many things that need my attention. I need to write, bother you at work, eavesdrop on Alexis, pay off mother's credit cards, try on tuxes for the wedding, buy flowers for the doorman, it's his birthday on Friday..."

Beckett cut through the rambling litany with "Aha! Tuxes! And wouldn't those tuxes be so much more attractive with an actual _groom_ in them, instead of a corpse?"

She rarely used this much dramatic exaggeration, but Kate had already been through this once, with her dad. Plus, Beckett figured, she had earned the right to a little theatrics. _She_ was the one risking everything, for the 'pleasure' of a lifetime supply of Castle's melodramatics. The _least_ he could do was make that a long lifetime.

"Seriously, Castle," she leveled her gaze into him, and folded her arms. Rick gulped. This wasn't good.

"How do you expect me to promise 'til death do us part' when, for you, that might mean next Tuesday?"

She had a solid point. Damn, that non-stop logic was infuriating.

Kate accepted his penitent head on her shoulder, even if he wasn't ready to stop pouting, yet.

But her supporting argument continued, albeit with a slightly softer tone, "What kind of justice comes from surviving the threat of nuclear fallout, booby trapped bombs, terrorist kidnappings, and Bengal tigers, if you're just gonna let sloth and jelly donuts kill you, anyway?"

"Al-right," he begrudgingly agreed, "But I expect plenty of motivation, from my pit crew," he poked her chest defeatedly, "while I tune up this engine."

"That's fine," she wrapped her arms around him, "I'd be happy to help you with a _road test_, when you think you're ready."

Cute and dirty at the same time? How could he deny her, even if it meant humiliating gym shorts, and worse-than-death treadmill boredom.

* * *

At the precinct the next day, Rick's diagnosis was top topic.

"Oh, you need Master Kai-Rhee!" Espo tapped Castle's chest twice with a rolled up staff memo.

Why did everyone feel like flicking his heart was now fair game? They couldn't just morse code the thing back into cardiovascular health. But if they could, he'd much prefer that alternative.

Ryan definitely wanted in on this game. Castle looked like he might cry after Kate's explanation of the Doc's recommendations. "You mean Sergeant Valedictoria Evans, the only woman to qualify for the Special Forces?"

"Yeah, everything except for the male part." Espo was looking Castle up and down, not so subtly comparing Castle's 'manhood' to the Master Sergeant in his mind. "Her step-dad ran the Special Forces Qualification Course, and she passed it with flying colors by the time she was 25. But since she was missing just one essential piece of equipment, they hired her to train all the incoming SF candidates, whenever she's not deployed."

Ryan couldn't resist painting a picture. "I heard she makes them cry in their cereal."

"Well, that doesn't sound like a good thing before getting married." Castle turned pleadingly to Beckett, "You don't want me emotionally unstable, with all the pressure of a wedding coming up? Do you?"

"I dunno, Castle, sounds like she's got special expertise, in exactly what ails you." Kate could flaunt her detached reasonableness all day, if it were at Castle's expense.

Esposito made the pitch, "Now that she's stateside, again, she hosts a special 'rehabilitation' clinic for the rich and swanky, on an island, off the Florida Keys."

This bit of info brightened the writers mood, considerably. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad, island hopping with trust funders and frosty beverages? Might be a nice way to get into fighting form, without too much belaboring the point.

"Oh, I hear it's _very_ tropical" Ryan goaded, wondering how far this parade of half-truths would go.

Castle ran with it, "Well, how intense can anything be, with the sound of Jimmy Buffet wafting through the air?" The writer's dreamy expression searched the ceiling, before it lit up again, "Perhaps, I'll have a Hemingway-type adventure, and shoot bulls after my third bottle of absinthe?"

On a good day, Castle could make any delusion sound plausible to himself. And, apparently, today was a _**very **_good day.

"Sure, Castle," Kate colluded, egging him on with the literary reference, "I bet bull fighting comes right after siesta, and boxing lessons."

Espo and Ryan, kept the straightest faces they could manage as they dramatically nodded their heads in agreement. The writer's smug rationalizations, and pipe-dreams, were better at pranking Castle than they were. It was too easy.

* * *

All five foot four inches of Master Sergeant Valedictoria Evans, rippled with seething intensity over the prone, corpse-like bodies of her cowering flabby-fleshed charges. Each of them hugged the beach like someone had turned up the earth's gravity to unbearable levels.

As he approached, Castle wasn't sure if he had the right woman. Surely this diminutive creature, with yellow whistle, and double black knee braces, framed in swaying palm trees, was more Jada Pinkett, than Terminator. Perhaps, she was an assistant? Or maybe the boys were pulling his leg about the IUD scarring?

"Castle," her voice shot like a rifle.

The sound ricocheted past Rick's ear, with sudden panic in its wake. Fight or flight wobbled Rick's knees involuntarily, forcing his thoughts to calculate how fast he'd have to run to make it back to the boat, before it undocked.

"Hoax! Simon! Relieve Mr. Castle of his shirt and shoes." Two massive mountains of biceps, appeared behind Rick, and expeditiously carried out her orders, before the writer could ascertain whose hand belonged to whom.

Castle wasn't embarrassed of his physique, but this was a little too 'public strip search' to be comfortable. "Wow, that's a little handsy for our first date, isn't it boys?"

Rick's feeble attempt at wit put a smile on Kai-Rhee's face, 'Powder-puff' she mused, considering how easy it would be to break him.

Once he stood in only khaki shorts, a belt, and sunglasses, her voice rang out, again, from across the beach.

"Richard Castle?"

"Yes, Ma'am, Sir, Sergeant Evans... Sir" he tried to stand at attention awkwardly, but kept falling out of the posture, since he had zero muscle memory to make it fit right. His hands fidgeted to find the proper placement, at his side, in his pockets, behind his back, finally he clasped them in front of his package, which seemed like the safest and most useful arrangement for them.

As she began to walk toward him, his eyes vacillated between respectfully staring ahead, like the enormous men flanking him, and respectfully meeting her gaze, like the civilian code he knew how to follow. In close range, the scar lines traced on her forehead, down her right cheek and on her right forearm became visible. All the more reason, Castle decided, to look into the distance ahead, and avoid the rudeness of gawking.

When she stood squarely in front of Rick, he could see that she was actually quite stunning, a picture of human athleticism, with fine features, and glowing, caramel skin. Disarming in her perfect symmetry, except for the scars. But the sun didn't seem so bright anymore, compared to the heat of her glare. How did she stare him down from a full foot shorter stature?

She bulleted, "Take a good look, civilian."

The writer's eyes snapped to her face, obediently.

She pointed to the line of light skin that cut across her sun drenched forehead. In an eerily quiet tone, she said, "This is what a warrior looks like, after she picks up an IUD, and throws it out of her transport, to save the lives of her fellow warriors."

She traced the line down her cheek,"This is what total commitment looks like." Her finger ended up pointing at her own chin, indicating the consummate picture of intensity portrayed on her face.

She pointed to the line on her right forearm, and traced it down to the back of her palm. "This is what I expect of you during your time on my island."

She turned her right fist skyward toward Castle's face, so that the back of her palm and knuckles hung an inch away from his nose. "And _this_ is what you can expect to befall mini-Castle" her eyes glanced southward "if you bring anything less than total commitment, to every moment, during your stay." She let the ragged stub of her middle finger raise to reveal it's unnaturally truncated length.

'_Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?' _

"Are we clear, _Mister_ Castle?"

_"_Crystal, Sir, Ma'am, Sergeant... Yes, clear." Damn he sucked at this direct order thing, maybe there was a playbook under his bunk, that he could study tonight.

"Excellent. Now join those men, and show us what 200 push-ups look like."

Castle nearly bolted toward his dis-abled comrades in the sand, _anything_ was better than withering under her terrifying gaze, even push-ups.

* * *

Master Sergeant Kai-Rhee stopped the writer after 40 reps. "You'll cripple yourself by sundown, if you keep at it like that. Halt, and watch Kreuger."

A gangly young man, maybe early twenties, with swooping blue-black hair, assumed the position he had been in for the better part of a day. "You need to start with your elbows tucked in _**tight**_ to the sides of your body, all five fingers facing straight ahead, one straight line to your elbows, no dipping in the waist, no jutting of the chin, ramrod straight from tip to tail. Now bend," Kreuger brought his nose to lightly touch the sand, "and straighten." His body snapped into a plank, with enough force to shake his long bangs out from behind his ear. Satisfied, she released her demo with a prompt "At ease."

"Now, Castle, show me you were paying attention."

Ugh, that stare, she didn't even have to squint her eyes, or look over her sunglasses, just her mid-range expression, and tone of voice, was enough to scare the pants off Castle. She made Beckett look like a fuzzy bunny of roll-over-ness. He scrambled to mimic the shape Kreuger made, touch his nose to the sand, and similarly snap back.

"Good, now hold that position."

The Sergeant put one foot on Castle's lower back, parallel with his belt, and stepped up, placing her other foot, in between his shoulder blades, pointed toward his neck.

"Now, try again."

A pathetic, unplanned whine escaped Castle's lips, before he even attempted to lower himself. As soon as he heard his own sound, Rick knew that was a tragic misstep.

She used her over-projected drill sergeant tone, to boredly announce, "It appears Mr. Castle would like to change his name to Mr. Stubs, on his very first drill."

Rick lowered himself, and his load, slowly to the sand, and snapped back. Luckily, she weighed less than he would have guessed.

"Continue, Mr. Castle, we have a long road to 200 ahead of us. Kreuger, keep count, this is rep 43." The young man nodded.

Despite Castle's bellyaching, he was no weakling. His body naturally kept itself fairly strong, and there were no end to the diversions that kept Castle moving about, during virtually every hour of the day and night, except when he was typing, or riding shotgun with Beckett. The writer often quipped at cocktail parties that ADHD was an 'excellent exercise regimen.'

And, of course, now, there was the bedroom. Castle's long 20 months of celibacy, when he could no longer stomach sleeping with anyone, even his deep fried twinkie, unless they were Kate, had made him extra ornery. So that when Rick had finally returned to the bedroom, he did so with a vengeance.

Kate joked that they'd need to install wall mounted harnesses, anchored to the studs, if he kept insisting on attempting acrobatics during sex. Flat surfaces just didn't seem to be exciting enough for him. Kate tried not to take it personally, when she occasionally found his eye wandering to the bedpost, or window ledge, because she knew he was trying to figure out how he could use it for leverage, in a new position. Part of his insatiable curiosity was always at work on the logistics of entering Kate, from a new angle. And, although sometimes the set-up of these stunts could break the mood, Kate couldn't deny that the results, and Castle's unwavering commitment to getting those results, were worth it.

Even though the Doc had warned the writer that his pulse needed to return more quickly, after exertion, to a resting heart rate, Rick really wasn't that concerned about his stamina. He always seemed to find the inspiration, when it came to pleasuring Kate, or racing to save her life. And, really, when else did it matter?

Even though he had a daughter in college, he didn't feel older, or notice signs that he was losing his edge. Truthfully, Kate made him feel like superman, better than he ever had. It was only tequila, or those devilishly irresistible jello shots that Meredith made, that ever reduced him to an achy mess, and made him question his shelf-life.

But in the present moment, rep 200 was still a looooooong way off. Maybe he wasn't quite as young as he used to be? Or maybe, the distinct lack of Kate, and overabundance of Master Sergeant Kryptonite, hitching a free ride on his back, was about to reveal just how little he _knew_, about his physical limitations.

* * *

"One Hundred," Kreuger announced when Rick had reached his half way mark.

Kai-Rhee barked, "Hold it." Castle froze, not that he had any confidence that he could continue, even if she hadn't ordered it.

"There are rules on my island, Castle. If you can repeat them, without dropping me, or yourself, onto the sand in the process, I'll get off, so you can finish without my '_**help**_'. Understood?"

A pitiful squeak of agreement, came out of the muscle-fatigued Castle, as he struggled just to keep his arms locked, let alone complete another rep.

"You will address me as 'Master Kai-Rhee', or 'Master Sergeant Kai-Rhee', but 'Master' or 'Sensei' will suffice, if I have asked you a direct question. Are we clear?"

Rick breathily gasped,"Yes, Master Kai-Rhee." Rick couldn't agree quick enough, he felt like the glue in his joints had turned to lube, and feared his humerus bone might slide clear off his forearm, if he couldn't get her off soon.

"I will address you as Castle or Mister Castle, until you have _earned_ a name befitting a proper grunt, like Kreuger, Cannon, and Fitz over there."

"I must earn a proper name." He almost cut her off, he was so eager to move on.

"You have no legal rights whatsoever on this island, since you have signed every waiver known to man, and technically this land is a privately held entity, that does not fall under the jurisdiction of the United States, or any government in the world. I am the only law here, and there is no appeals process."

Castle grunted, "You are the only law," feeling the faintest twinge of infidelity, under the screaming pain in his triceps, even though Kate had basically sent him to this fate.

"Finally, total commitment is your only job, now. You are not to write, plot, network, contact anyone off the island, or jerk off, during your time here."

A meek, "No jerking off," was all Rick could manage to get out before his windpipe clamped closed again.

"Good." She jumped off his back, and dropped into a mirror image high plank directly in front of him, staring into his eyes, "I think we have an understanding, Castle. Let's begin."

She dropped her nose to the sand, calling "One hundred one."

The rush of relative weightlessness in Castle's arms made him feel like he might be able to fly, if the convulsive shaking in his abs and arms didn't get any worse. He joined his new Master with the strongest push-up he'd ever done. It felt amazing, not just easier, but powerful. He was in control of his body in a bizarre new way. He couldn't wait to show Kate this trick.

* * *

As they plunged in unison into rep 110, Kai-Rhee asked, "So, what's her name?"

Castle's face crossed in confusion.

She corrected herself, "Or _his_ name, no judgement."

When Castle still didn't get it, she spelled it out. "What's the name of the person you are doing this for?"

"How do you know that I'm not doing this" the grunts of exertion, broke up his longer sentence, "for myself? uh. Or, for my health? uh. Or, for vanity? uh." Even under duress, he'd rather kick about an idea in conversation, than almost anything.

"Cause your piehole would be feasting on a mouthful of sand by now," she waited until her next ascent to finish, "if that were the case."

After about five more push-ups in relative silence, Rick volunteered, "Kate, her name is Kate."

* * *

The rest of Rick's epic 200, as he would later refer to them, were spent chatting with Kai-Rhee about her name, how she knew Javier, and the other grunts in Castle's cohort. He also shared a little about how he met Beckett, their upcoming wedding, and his troublesome EKG. The time flew by once he had free reign to chat, even if his lungs weren't necessarily grateful for the extra CO2 load.

Rick learned that Kai-Rhee was short for Valkyrie, her code name on several missions. Only her sister and brother were ever allowed to call her 'Val,' and she was bothered by the fact that her last name belonged to a 'loathsome deadbeat' instead of her 'real' dad, the belated Lt. Commander Ernest P. Walker. So, her mission name was the only thing that felt like 'home' to her. Her sidekick in Afghanistan, an enormous 300 pound teddy bear of a man, named Lamar, would shout "Kai-Rhreeeee!" in a shrill triumphant battle cry, every time she would return safely from a mission.

On the day of her injury, though, Lamar couldn't bring the sound of it from his lips, he just mumbled, "Valkyrie, Valkyrie, NO, no, no, no." The sad pitiful pain of his greeting, echoed in her ears throughout the dreamless sleep of her surgery, and long into her recovery. After that, she couldn't stomach the sound of her call sign. She petitioned command to assign her a new name.

But when she entered the mess tent, again, for the first time on her own, Lamar, and everyone who survived that transport because of her, sounded the shrill cry of "Kai-Rheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" with their fists raised in victory, to welcome her back. Thus, her nickname was cemented into the minds of everyone at the camp, and was instrumental in restoring her wavering confidence.

And those same soldiers sounded it again 20 months, and 15 missions later, when she boarded the chopper that would start her journey stateside. After her commanding officer paid his last salute, 43 troops screamed into the scorching desert sun. An undying frenzy of Kai-Rheeeee's rose from the heliopad, until she lifted out of site.

Lamar's name for her, meant more than anything on her birth certificate.

* * *

The rest of the longest afternoon of Castle's life, was spent reacquainting the writer with the bitter hells that he thought he'd left behind in gym class. And some new ones, that he didn't even have names for, yet.

When he dropped, face first, into his bunk, Castle didn't have the strength to crawl out of his shorts, let alone pull the covers over himself.

Luckily, he had saved up a perfect memory to comfort him during a moment like this. The memory of the afternoon with Kate, just moments after he had conceded to 'tune up his engine.' He fervently replayed every tiny detail of it now, to keep his mind off the bitter pain, that was coming to claim every joint, and muscle, in his body.

* * *

"I'd be happy to help you with a _road test_, when you think you're ready." Kate was so damn cute, when she stooped to use a metaphor.

After Rick poured out his liquored coffee treat, and had taken a moment to absorb his defeat, he let the image of Kate's offer ping pong around in his dizzying whirlwind of a brain. In a few moments, he seized upon a fiendish idea.

He ventured to Kate, "Why, wait?" with a full display of feigned innocence, he gathered her up in his arms, "I mean every makeover needs a before and after photo, right?"

"What are you saying, Castle? Do you want me to take your picture?" Kate could smell the come on, but would never consider letting him in, until he groveled with a few titillating displays of his wit and prose prowess.

"Well, maybe, but I was thinking more like a closed course simulation."

"Ah" Kate nodded, playing along to encourage his 'effort.'

He curled toward Kate's neck, still playful, but obviously hungry for her, "A baseline for comparison purposes, might be very helpful."

"Mmmm" Her head bent backwards to give his breath access to more of her skin, "Where is this closed course you have in mind?" Her tone of voice gave him all the green lights he needed.

Castle's inner ten-year-old imp lit up, grabbed Kate's hand, announced, "This way!" and led her hastily out the door, without even letting her grab her coat or keys.

* * *

"Where are we, exactly, Castle?" Since the engagement, Kate had come to terms with his outlandish whims, to a certain extent. But she still needed to check him, if for no other reason, than to play up how gracious she was, to accommodate him.

Rick unlocked a small, windowless door inside the parking garage of his building. "Shh. Right through here, madame." She ducked under his arm, while he checked for prying eyes, before locking them both inside.

"Romantic," Kate's sarcasm at the smell of motor oil, cut the pitch blackness that filled the room.

Beckett heard Castle stall with, "Just gimme a minute," followed by the jostling of keys, clicking of locks, and fumbling of a car door, which cast enough interior light, to reveal Castle climbing inside his Ferrari.

Kate strode up to the passenger side, and opened the door, "We going somewhere?"

"Juuuust, gimme one more minute," he said, distractedly focused on pushing buttons, and flipping a number of switches on the console.

Kate knew this look. She started scanning the darkened room for potential hazards, or escape routes, should they become necessary. There wasn't much to see, the room barely extended past the perimeter of the car, with just enough room for some utility shelves, and a workbench with various tools, rags, and small parts on it. Didn't look like there was another entrance, either, unless she counted the vents near the ceiling.

Castle answered her silent thoughts, without interrupting his task, "Don't worry, not a single security cam anywhere near this room. I took the liberty of fully investigating our building's video feeds, and had a nice long chat with our head of security, who assured me," his voiced strained a little as he reached under his seat, "that I could have _sole_ use of this room, to wash the car, and work on the engine, for the remainder of the week." He sprang out of his seat, and bounced over to Kate. His smug grin veritably daring her to come up with an objection.

"Castle, you wouldn't know a carburetor from a cam shaft, what we doing here?"

"Test drive." His metaphoric canary feathers barely concealed inside his guilty kittenish grin.

"This room isn't big enough for a K-turn, where exactly are we driving?"

"Not the car…" his eyebrows popped suggestively. "…Me."

Kate felt the familiar quicksand of Castle's devilish charms sucking her into another ridiculously risky, and risqué, scenario.

* * *

'_Oh, the things he talks me into.'_

Castle marveled at Kate's streamlined curves. Reclined against his windshield, her unending legs poured down the hood of his luxury sports car. For all the time and money and talent that Enzo Ferrari sunk into the making of his machine, Kate was the only thing in the room that looked hot enough for formula one racing.

"I'm not posing for a centerfold up here, Rick. This is _your_ skills test."

Castle blinked out of his daydream, and hastened to her feet at the grill of the car.

Beckett took the opportunity to leverage the quivering need in Castle's eyes, "Ready to race? Meter's running."

"Oh, no," He climbed up the roof of the car, hovering over her. "This is a long-distance course." His mouth breathed into her neck, "I'm not racing through anything."

She arched her back just a little, offering her neck to his lips, which hung teasingly close.

He switched to her other ear, biting the lobe ever so lightly, explaining, "This is an endurance challenge." She quivered a little with the tingles running up the back of her scalp.

"And I expect the judges to give points for agility," he skimmed his lips down her neck. The uneven caress of his wet lips sent a twinge between Kate's legs.

He crossed over to her throat, whispering to the dip between her clavicles, "And maneuverability," Rick drug his attentions down between her breasts.

Kate's eyelids fell, allowing her to sink further into the palpable need emanating from him, and every sensation that arose from it. In hopes, he would continue downward, Kate joined in, "Rolling friction?"

"Yes," His warm breath traced a vapor trail to her belly button.

A little delicious desperation crept into her voice, "Shift time?" She arched her pelvis, presenting him with the flimsy boundary of her soft, cream-colored panties, veritably glowing against the race red paint.

Castle barely controlled his own throttle long enough to enjoy revving her up a little more.

He hovered over her navel, turning the screws with a breathy, "Specifically, we want the judges to note," He kissed. "drag coefficient," He kissed again. "for future comparison." He kissed a third time.

When Kate's legs bowed open, under the unbearable pressure of anticipation, Rick bit into the ridiculous tiny satin bow, ubiquitous on women's panties, and tugged. She didn't care if it was part of his plan, her fingers moved on their own, to tear off the only thing keeping him away from the place his mouth _**needed**_ to be right now.

* * *

There was plenty more etched into Castle's memory banks, but his body claimed him in sleep, before he could review any more of the replay reel. A light snore rose from the writer, before he could even think about what Kate was doing right now, or what fresh hell awaited him tomorrow morning.

* * *

**Thanks, all, for reading. I might just expand this one shot, to two or three more, so we can get a few more details of Rick's results, and how he uses them with Kate. **

**Thanks to Suz and JJ, for revving my engine! Happy to return the favor, I've been lucky to hook-up with such good folk on this site. **

**Gimme a review or PM, if you've got a hellish training idea, or athletic position you'd like Caskett to tryout :)**


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